She put the cup to her lips expecting a wave of warm foamed milk infused with the satisfying bitter of dark Ecuadorian coffee. Nothing more than flat milk with cold coffee. How long had she been sitting there?

She took the i-phone out of her bag. Text message: R u coming? Send. Quick time check. Thirty-six minutes of waiting.

Maybe… what if… just once more…

She knew he’d never come.

I-phone notification: her message hadn’t gone through. The dull ache set in. The same ache she had felt every Friday since–

It was their weekly ritual to meet after work at the coffee shop to start their weekend together. The baristas admired them as ‘that lovely couple’. It was the same every Friday until–

She knew she couldn’t bend the laws of time and tragedy to undo what had happened. Still, she had to keep coming. Every Friday. To not do so would be to betray him and the start of their weekend together.